"And without any 'therefore,'" responded Philip, "she is mine, because I am her lover."
"Ah," said Mr. Hart, with a bright smile, "here is a case to be settled, then. But if every pretty girl was her lover's, then one might belong to fifty, or more, for there are hearts enough. Why, you rash-head! do you know how many men in Silver Creek might call your Margaret theirs by the same right as that by which you claim her?"
"No," said Philip, a little sulkily, "I don't know."
"Then I'll tell you. To my certain knowledge, sixty-nine; to my almost as certain conviction, some five hundred. She had forty-two offers of marriage the first week, and has had twenty-seven since. Come now, divide her between the sixty-nine lovers who have declared themselves; what part of her is yours?"
"You talk nonsense," said Philip roughly.
"Well, suppose you talk sense," said Mr. Hart blandly.
"It is hardly believable," cried Philip, clenching his fist. "Sixty-nine offers of marriage! She never told me, and I'm her lover."
"She has told me, and I'm only her father."
"By proxy," corrected Philip.
"Well, by proxy."